


In The Absence Of Light

by orphan_account



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-07
Updated: 2013-11-07
Packaged: 2017-12-31 17:46:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1034560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He watches him watch Enjolras, who watches absolutely no one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In The Absence Of Light

**Author's Note:**

> I was thinking about [this](http://yosbougrerie.tumblr.com/post/45879123627/aww-pretty-baby-did-you-actually-think-he-loved) and then this happened. I have no excuse, I’m sorry.

_I’ll be your messenger, your minister, your morbid curiosity_  
 _In the hands of the night you’re a plaything_  
 _I’ll be your passenger, your pleasurer, your terminal velocity_  
 _In the absence of light we’re the same thing_

—

It’s selfish of him, he supposes, to slither into Grantaire’s lap when he’s had enough to drink that he wouldn’t think to push him off. He knows it’s not him he’s thinking of when they do this, but Jehan does an admirable job of pretending that doesn’t leave a bitter taste in his mouth; he doesn’t have it in him to restrain himself from taking what little he can get from him in moments of weakness.

He watches him watch Enjolras, who watches absolutely no one, at least not with that familiar spark of longing in his eyes. He knows it hurts for Grantaire because it sure as hell hurts for him; and while there’s nothing anyone can do about that, the least he can do is make sure he doesn’t have to sleep alone.

So he does. It isn’t difficult. They drink together often enough that it’s only a matter of shifting gears, from affectionately tactile to deliberately suggestive. The first time Jehan kissed him, Grantaire had smiled at him crookedly and asked, “What was that for?”

He kissed him again in case he intended to push for an answer.

He would have imagined it was obvious anyway. He never said it aloud, but it was there, in every movement, every look, every touch:  _I love you, I love you, I love you_. If this was the only way he would ever be allowed to express himself, then he wasn’t going to be guilty of neglecting the opportunity.

So Jehan slithered into his lap and kissed him hard in the middle of one of his drunken rambles, and Grantaire hesitated, but only for a moment. Then he opened his mouth to let him lick inside, and sighed when Jehan scraped his nails lightly across his scalp and tugged gently on his curls—he loved having his hair played with, and Jehan was more than happy to oblige. He rocked his hips down, echoing the rhythm of the music that was playing, and felt a rush of triumph when Grantaire’s hands came up to find his waist and pull him closer. He kissed him until he was dizzy with it, heart pounding, head swimming with a combination of liquor and the heady taste of him. If Jehan was memorizing the feel of his lips, the taste of his tongue, the way he nipped at his lips and fought lazily for dominance of the kiss—well, he didn’t need to know.

Jehan slid a hand between them to stroke his cock through his jeans, and grinned breathlessly against his mouth when he made a little sound of approval and bucked up against his palm. His own pleasure was secondary; he got off on pleasing Grantaire, and any sign that he was successful in this endeavour sent another shockwave through him.  _Let me show you_ , he thought, a little incoherently, as he slid down to kneel on the floor in front of him,  _let me show you what I can do, how good I can make you feel_ —

Grantaire caught his hands, the only part of him still within easy reaching distance, and Jehan looked up at him, momentarily distracted. He was watching him with consternation in his gaze, and his heart twisted.

“You don’t have to…” he said.

Jehan shook his head, wide-eyed, trying not to look pleading and aware that he was failing. “I want to. Don’t you want me to?”

“It’s not that. I mean, I don’t know. I’ve heard a lot of girls complain about it and I don’t want you to do anything you don’t—”

“Have you ever heard  _me_  complain about it?” He asked. Grantaire still had a hold of his hands, so he couldn’t resume stroking him as he talked; he satisfied himself with leaning forward and dragging his tongue up the bulge in his jeans. He heard him breathe in sharply and felt his hips jerk under his mouth. He looked up at him, smiling. “I want to. If you don’t want me to, tell me and I’ll stop, but don’t stop me because you assume I won’t enjoy it. Believe me, there are few things I’d enjoy more.”

He didn’t reply immediately, but his grip on his hands had slackened, so Jehan slowly began working his jeans open, glancing at him with a questioning arch of an eyebrow. Grantaire made an odd sound in the back of his throat and nodded. It was all the permission he needed.


End file.
